“It’ll be fine,” I say, embarrassment making me wish the ground would swallow me whole.
Sliding the seat forward as far as I can, I clamber inside, tripping on my skirt. I nearly fall flat on my face, but thankfully Howard, with his wiry arms, manages to grasp me around my waist. I’m still not sure how he doesn’t fall on top of me. The guy must be stronger than he appears. Struggling to right myself, I finally accomplish my goal of fitting my ass in the tiny seat. Howard helps to tuck my dress to fit inside, and once it’s under control, the bulky material blocks my view until I bat it down. Howard folds his long legs in the cramped space beside me, and I’m proud of him when he doesn’t complain as Whitney slides the seat back so far it traps his limbs between seats. No way would I be as polite. Sandwiched together with nowhere to go, we don’t say much on the short journey because of all the sneezing. On the way to the restaurant, we discover Howard’s flower allergy, and there’s a sudden mucosal overload. Desperate to do anything I can to help slow the snot flow, I remove my corsage, and place it in my purse, while Howard tosses his boutonniere near a disgusted Whitney’s feet. I laugh to myself because I swear he aims some of his sneezes in her direction on purpose.
When we pull up outside the Mexican restaurant, the rest of our group is waiting in the parking lot. The first person I notice is Brent, arm possessively draped over Tiffany’s shoulder. Howard, still overcome with the abundance of histamine, lets out a gross, wet sneeze instead of a typical greeting. “Allergies,” he mumbles as an apology.
Brent laughs, and my stomach morphs from butterflies from being near him to sinking dread when I realize that despite the special occasion, tonight isn’t going to be one of his more mellow interactions. It’s written all over his face that he fully intends to give me a hard time.
“What’s up, Triple P? Your date allergic to you?” The crowd laughs, and I have a strong desire to run and hide, if only my stupid dress would allow it. My panic-filled gaze turns to Howard but he simply smiles at me.
“Definitely not, Mallowee. How could I be allergic to someone as bootiful as you?” Howard’s eyes stay fixed on mine as he says it, and the crowd hushes. When I finally cast my shy gaze elsewhere, I’m shocked to see Brent, jaw angrily set, grow red before turning to walk inside. Serves him right! Brent’s not used to someone challenging him, and as a reward, I snake my arm through Howard’s and give a tight squeeze.
After being seated, I look down the table and admit that it’s very odd to be among the majority of the football team and cheerleading squad. It’s awkward, and though none of them are paying me any mind, I feel out of place. I divert my full attention to Howard. Once I get used to his speech impediment and the glint of metal every time he smiles, he’s actually a really nice and interesting guy. I couldn’t have asked for a better first date, especially one so kind and attentive. I really like him, but even so, I don’t experience the same type of flutter I feel while around the testosterone-filled, bulky athletes.
Still feeling overwhelmed halfway through the meal, I excuse myself to the bathroom to check my make-up and hair, as well as to take a quick breather from the cacophony around me. Paying attention to nothing but not rolling my ankle in my heels, I gasp when I’m suddenly pulled along the corridor.
“Brent, what the hell are you doing?” His grip is tight enough to keep me on my feet though he rushes us towards the darkness at the end of the hall.
“Shush, I just want to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. I need to get back to my date.” I try wriggling away, but get nowhere. He looks back for a moment to make sure no one is watching, then pushes me inside a doorway. “I’ve been an ass to you tonight.”
I scoff at his comment. “I’m sure you’re aware, but it’s not just tonight. You’re always an ass.”
“I hear that, but look, it’s nothing personal against you. I have a reputation to maintain, so I’m going to keep being an ass to you.”
“You dragged me into a storeroom to tell me that you’re going to keep being mean to me? Seriously, Brent, that’s not headline news. You could’ve saved your breath, and my time.” All I can concentrate on are the strange sensations swirling through me because his strong hands are still on my arms. So pathetic. I push by him to leave, but he holds me firmly.
“You look pretty tonight.” Stunned, I swallow hard while looking into his eyes for any trace of deceit. An evil glint appears, and I prepare myself for the worst. “Just wanted to let you know that before I harass you and your date tonight. If you tell anyone what I said, I’ll deny it.”
“Wait. You weren’t joking about thinking I’m pretty?”
His grin broadens to a full smile, and he gives a playful wink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Thanks?” I manage to mumble while staring down at my feet.
He leans forward, pressing his lips against my ear. “Very, very beautiful, Mallory.” And with that, he’s gone, and I’m left a confused mess.
FIVE
True to his word, Brent torments Howard as soon as we enter the school’s gym for the dance, but only briefly. Nate puts a stop to it quickly, and robbed of his source of amusement, Brent spends most of his night sulking in a corner.
I spend the majority of my night looking out of the corner of my eye to watch Brent sulk. I don’t pay any real attention to my date, but instead, mull over Brent’s comments at the restaurant. Did I hear him right? Of all people, why Brent? Is there really something there? We’ve shared a few moments, but they were just… I don’t know. Moments. Maybe the tingle I feel when I’m around him is more than just physical attraction? There’s no point in denying that the guy is hot as hell. He knows it, and his boisterous personality confirms it. Does he really think I’m beautiful? Why would he? My stomach sinks when I compare my physique to Tiffany’s. Surely, his comments were just a twisted way of teasing me. I sigh.
“Yesh or no?” Howard lisps. I snap out of my trance to realize I’m still clutching onto him even though the music has stopped. I take a step backwards and smile apologetically.
“Yes or no what?”
“The after party. Nate wantsh to know if we’re going.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t ask my mom, and…”
“It’sh okay if you don’t want to.”
“Where will it be?”
“Brentsh.”
“Brent? As in the Brent who likes to torment us?”
“Yesh, but don’t worry. Nate will be there, show it’ll be da bomb. I think I could handle Brent, too, if needed. You will be protected.”
“Thank you for the offer of protection, but I’m not worried about Brent. Are you sure we’re invited, though?” I ask with hesitation. Howard nods. “Okay, do you have a quarter so I can call my mom?” The shining metal from Howard’s smile temporarily blinds me when the spotlight grazes across the dance floor.
“Here!” he says excitedly, digging some change from his pocket and depositing it into my opened palm. “Want me to go wish you?” I simply shrug as I make my way to the bank of pay phones lining the wall near the school’s front office. Howard props an arm across the nearest one, and practically pants with excitement. “I hope she shez yesh.” He eagerly rubs his hands together as I dial. I give a slight smile. Oh Howard, you don’t know it yet, but you’re really starting to grate on my nerves! I turn my back slightly for perceived privacy, because in reality, Howard gives me none.
She’s happier about me attending than I am, going so far as to give me no curfew and strict instructions to enjoy myself. “I can go.”
Howard waggles his eyebrows at me as I place the phone in the receiver. “Tonightsh gonna be the shizznit!”
“Yeah. Okay.” He drapes his arm across my shoulder, and looking ever so much like someone who has just won the lottery, he escorts me back into the gym. Nate and Whitney are slow dancing when Howard taps Nate on the shoulder to give him a thumbs up and a wink.
“We are in!” Howard says
with a huge grin.
“Dude, that’s awesome!” They high five. “It’s about time to head out. Ready, Whit?”
“Always.” She snuggles against him. Nate raises his hand towards Brent, who is having what appears to be a heated conversation with Tiffany. He brushes past her, nods to Nate, and makes for the door. Tiffany trails right behind him, but he pays her no mind.
“We’re going to stop by my cousin’s to get a few things before we head to Brent’s,” Nate says once we reach his car. Blowing out a sigh, I look with dread at the backseat. The dread is quickly replaced with confusion when Nate tosses his keys to Howard. “You don’t mind driving, do you?” Howard looks as stunned as I do at first but recovers quickly by playing overly calm.
“No,” his voice cracks, and he clears his throat as he puffs out his chest. “I mean nah. Thatsh cool. I can do that.”
Whitney gives Nate a stare that makes my blood run cold, but her silent warning doesn’t faze Nate in the least. “Good. Whitney, climb in.”
“Just how in the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“Mallory didn’t seem to have a problem with it,” he challenges, unblinking. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing. Nate knows exactly the right words to send her into a rage, and her once annoyed face is now beet-red while her hands ball into fists.
“I suppose she didn’t,” Whitney says through clenched teeth. It’s my turn to be amused while watching her contort her long legs inside. I feel an overwhelming urge to give Nate a huge kiss on the cheek, especially when he gives me a quick wink before climbing into the backseat after Whitney. Other than being a genuinely nice guy to everyone he meets, I have no idea why he has always been so friendly to me. I truly appreciate it, though.
The first series of stops is to each of our homes to change into casual clothes, Howard excluded since his things were at Nate’s. The next stop is to Nate’s cousin’s house, and it turns out to be a liquor supply run. Once case after case of beers and a rainbow of booze bottles are loaded into the trunk, we’re off to Brent’s. I’m not sure how I feel about everything. I’ve never partied before, and my experience with alcohol is virtually non-existent. Part of me feels excited and ready to cut loose, but another more responsible and guilt-ridden side of me wants to make an excuse to skip the party and go home. So this is the peer pressure I’ve been lectured about so often? It sucks.
Brent’s house isn’t merely a house, but a gray-bricked mansion with a huge circular flagstone drive. I swallow hard because I’ve never been inside something so majestic, and I’m not sure what to expect. We’re not even completely in the drive when a shiny coupe shoots by, tires squealing as it turns onto the roadway.
“What the hell is her damage? Uh. Tiffany’s ass best be coming back,” Whitney says with a huff. “Your dumb ass friend, Brent, probably upset her.”
“My dumb ass friend?” Nate says with a snort.
“You know how he is.”
“And you know how SHE is. Stay out of it, Whit.”
“She’s my friend, and I will not stay out of it.”
I wait for Nate to fire the next volley, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes against Howard’s seat as encouragement for him to let him out. Taking his cue, I jump out, as well, and meet him at the back of the car.
“Want some help?” I softly ask. He smiles broadly at my offer.
“Sure, Mallory. It would be great if you could help carry some of the bottles.” I load as many as I can into my arms and fall to the rear of a line that is led by an empty-handed and pissed-off Whitney and an equally empty-handed and overeager Howard. She doesn’t knock, but simply walks into the place as though she owns it.
“What the fuck did you do to my friend?” she yells as she crosses the empty living room to enter the kitchen.
“Whitney,” Nate warns. Brent, casually sitting on one of the kitchen counters, blows a cloud of bluish gray smoke into the air, then takes another drag off a cigarette before speaking.
“Listen to your guy and leave it alone, Whit. It doesn’t involve you.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “It most certainly does because she’s my friend, and everyone knows that you’re an asshole.”
“Whitney!” Nate snaps.
“Oh, don’t act like it’s some big secret.”
Still laden with an armful of liquor bottles, I don’t know if I should dump and run or what. I half expect Brent to jump down and confront Whitney face to face, but instead he laughs.
“You’re right. It’s no secret, so fuck you, and fuck your cheating ass friend. There. Now you know. If you want to stay and party, whatever. Do it, but no trying to fix this. No secretly going to get her and hope that we make up. No calling her to try to get her to come back. Let. It. Go. Understand?”
“How’d you find out?” Whitney asks.
My jaw drops, and I feel as though I’m in the middle of a live-action soap opera. I know I should probably give them all privacy, but my feet are frozen to the floor.
Brent takes another hit off his cigarette before soaking the butt in the sink, then tossing it into the garbage. “Figures you’d know all about it.” He brushes past her. “Guests are arriving. Nate, would you mind running the rules by everyone?”
“Naw, man. I got that,” Nate says, giving a sympathetic look to Brent before giving a squinted scowl in Whitney’s direction. He leaves to meet the new arrivals. Whitney shrugs, takes a wine cooler from an ice chest, and walks towards a sliding glass door not far from the kitchen.
“I’ll be outside by the pool.”
“No one cares,” Brent says softly while taking a six pack of beers from the fridge. He slings the top off one, takes a long swig, then disappears up a flight of stairs. Howard and I are left staring at each other. He shakes his head as though he’s clearing a thought.
“Let me take those from you.” One by one, he removes a liquor bottle from the safety of my arms to place it on the kitchen counter. I’d been so enthralled by the action that I completely forgot I am still clinging to them.
Nate enters the kitchen with a few guests, and music all of a sudden blares throughout the house. “Yeah!” Nate yells, playfully rolling his hips in time to the beat as he dumps fruit, punch, and liquor into a huge ice chest. “Here you go, guys. You’ve well but deserved this, so drink up!” He passes Howard and me each a cup filled with the bright red drink he calls Jungle Juice, and I eye it warily before taking a small sip. Though the alcohol burns going down, the sweetness of the punch mixed with my being plain-old thirsty has me chug-a-lugging.
“That a girl, Mallory,” Nate says with a wink. “I never knew you were a party girl. You might want to slow up just a tad, though. I make my stuff extra potent.”
“Huh?” I ask, refilling my cup. “Oh, okay.” Howard asks me if I’d like to go outside with him since that’s where the majority of the guests have now conglomerated, and I nod, but not before refilling my cup once again.
About five minutes pass, and I send Howard in for a refill. Ten minutes later, I’m doing it again. Another ten minutes after that, and though the music is great, the view spectacular, and Howard is only being moderately annoying, I find my cup empty once again. Nate’s Jungle Juice is some good! However, after chugalugging the fruity goodness, I find my footing unstable, my face flushed, and the urge to pee rapidly creeping to excruciating. Bouncing from one foot to the other almost sends me to the ground and does nothing to help with the potty situation, so I excuse myself to bolt indoors.
Once inside, I open and close every door I see, but never find a damn bathroom! It’s an incredibly sloppy attempt, and I’m lucky I don’t bust my ass while doing it, but I manage to make it upstairs. Throwing open door after door, I’m nearly in tears because pissing in the huge potted plant at the end of the hall is close to becoming an option.
Brent’s room is the next door I open. His head is in his hands, but he jerks it upright when I storm inside.
“For the love of all tha
t is holy, BATHROOM!” Though silent from the surprise of my barging into his room, he manages to point to a door right across from his desk. Squeezing my knees together as best I can while buzzed beyond belief, I make it inside, kick the door shut, and slam open the lid. It makes a loud echo in the mostly marble room, and I giggle, then yell, “Whoopsie” to no one in particular before sitting. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. So good. Best piss ever,” I whisper as my bladder slowly returns to a normal size. After finishing up, I wash my hands but don’t bother drying them. Instead, I exit slinging water from my fingertips, then run them up and down my jeans for good measure.
“Issues?” Brent asks with a smirk.
“I had to pee.” I’d normally be mortified, but the booze leaves me unapologetically honest.
“I heard,” he says, leaving his desk chair to sit on the edge of his bed.
“You heard? Awww, shit.” I try snapping my fingers, but fail miserably.
“How much have you had to drink?” Brent says, his frown turning into an amused grin.
“Not a lot. Just three, four, or five cups.”
“Of?”
“Nate’s Jungle Juice.” His grin turns into a full-on smile.
“I was prepared to call you a lightweight, but I’ve had enough of Nate’s special punch to know better. I’m surprised you’re still on your feet.”
“I almost fell going up the stairs.”
“Glad you didn’t.”
I plop next to him on the bed and take his face between my hands. He starts to pull away at first, but after thinking twice, stays put while biting down on his lips. “You are so sweet to not want me to break my leg. Or my arm. Or my neck. People keep calling you an asshole, but you are sweet.” I pinch one of his cheeks, and he pushes my hands away.
The Broken Road to Forever Page 5
